The Burning Bridge AU featuring Donald Trump!
by RedRose-Arrow
Summary: @drowned-in-books on tumblr: "Ranger's Apprentice fans - you remember that scene, in The Burning Bridge, where Alyss is fed up with that dude's stuff? And she asks Halt if there is a moat in the castle? And Halt throws that dude into the moat? Halt throws Donald Trump into a moat." Here's that story! ! Not meant to offend Donald Trump or any of his supporters !
1. Part 1

Prime minister Arald of Australia put his phone to the side and looked up at his Governor-General in exasperation.

"Pauline, do you understand what this idiot is getting at?" he asked. The Governor-General nodded.

"In principle, I do, my lord," she said. Arald made a frustrated gesture.

"Then in principle, please explain it to me," he said, adding in an undertone, "as if I don't have enough on my plate without this sort of nonsense."

Pauline suppressed a smile. Arald had a well-known dislike of legal documents with their where-ifs, where-to-fore's and not-with-standing's. And still, he was one of the best prime minister's Australia had known.

"Donald Trump, president of the United States of America, is obliged to supply a place to live in the USA for up to 1,250 refugees from IS territory who were temporarily settled in Australia, when called upon," she began.

"And I take it he is refusing to do so?" said the prime minister wearily.

"Not exactly, sir," she replied. "He is willing to take refugees. He is unwilling to take refugees from Australia, or any other country, especially if they're Muslim.."

Arald frowned. There was no trace of his customary good humour evident at that statement.

"But he has to," he said. "This agreement has been sealed with the Obama Administration and it's still standing."

Pauline nodded in agreement. "Correct, my lord. But he does have a case. A very tenuous one, I must say, but a case nonetheless."

Arald's face, already flushed with annoyance, became a little redder. "How can he have a case?" he demanded. "Obama and I sealed this agreement. It's still standing. He has to take 1,250 refugees. End of the story. Ipso facto. Case-o, closed-o."

"As he sees it, my Lord, the whole thing hinges on a executive order signed by himself, only a few days ago. That order says that America won't take on any people - or refugees - from seven specific Muslim countries."

"That's ridiculous! You can't run a country like that! What was - is, he thinking?"

"It was his word only, Sir. Mr. Trump said that all people hailing from Iraq, Syria, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and Yemen are barred. His executive order bans entry of those fleeing from war-torn Syria indefinitely, and he has also stopped the admission of all refugees to the United States for four months. However, as this 'ban' asks civil servants who are covered by ordinary protections of the meritorious protection board to do illegal things in the course of their duties, it is, simply said, illegal."

"Well then!" Arald exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "If that's the case, where is the problem?"

"The intent is obvious, my lord, in context. But this executive order was signed by the President of the United States, so there is a certain ambiguity in the wording."

"Ambiguity is always certain when people like him are involved," Arald said. His face brightened. He rather liked that piece of wordplay. It struck him as quite droll. He looked hopefully for a smile from Ms. Pauline, but in vain. Deciding she must have missed it, he began again.

"You see, you said 'a certain ambiguity' and I said, 'Ambiguity is always certain when'-"

"Yes, yes, my lord. Quite so," Pauline said, cutting him off. Arald looked disappointed. She continued: "My assistant Nigel and I have gone through the executive order, the agreement and the laws of the USA, and Nigel has drafted a reply. He has found seventeen points of law where Mr. Trump has grossly misused the goal of executive orders and broke the law. In short, he has destroyed Trump's case most comprehensively."

"He is good at that," Arald said, smiling once again. This time, Pauline smiled with him.

"None better, my lord," she said.

"So what's our next move?" the prime minister asked. Pauline offered the text she had mentioned, but he waved it away. If Nigel and Pauline were happy with it, he knew it would be watertight. Pauline nodded. She appreciated the trust he had placed in her.

"Very well, my lord. We'll do a final draft and I thought I might have one of our NATO diplomats accompanied by one of the Special Agents bring it to his attention."

She replaced the draft letter in a thin, plastic folder, and withdrew another piece of paper, laying it on the table in front of her and smoothing it out so that it lay flat.

"Now, my lord, there is another matter we must discuss..."

She saw the pained expression on the prime minister's face. She knew he didn't want to discuss it.

"You're talking about this brouhaha with Halt, I suppose? I really don't have the time," he said, making dismissive gestures at her.

"Nonetheless, my lord, it is a brouhaha that we must make time for." She tapped the paper with one forefinger. "This is a summary of the brouhaha in question, my lord."

Arald glanced up at her. She seemed to be quite fond of that word, he thought. Or she was gently making fun of his choice of it in the first place. But Pauline's face gave nothing away. She continued: "If you care to look through it?"

He reached for it reluctantly. Pauline had known that he would try to avoid the subject. It was distasteful for all of them, but unfortunately, it had to be resolved. At that moment, there was a heavy-handed knock at the door to the prime minister's office and, grateful for any interruption, he hastily called, "Come in!"

She frowned at the distraction. It was Sir Rodney, head of the Australian Federal Police. He threw the door open and entered with a little more than his usual energy. He was talking before he had even crossed the threshold.

"Sir, you're simple going to have to do something about Halt!" he said. Then, noticing Pauline, he made a small gesture of apology. "Oh, sorry, Pauline, didn't see you there."

Pauline inclined her head in acknowledgement of the apology. The leaders of Australia were all good friends. There was no petty jealousy between them; none of the manoeuvring for influence and favour that plagued some countries.

The prime minister sighed deeply. "What has he done now?" he asked.

"Do I sense another brouhaha in the making?" Pauline said innocently and he glanced suspiciously at her. She seemed not to notice.

"Well, one of my police officers was stupid enough to make a remark about Special Agent Will and Officer Horace being sent off on a soft assignment. Said that's all they were good for."

"Oh, dear," said Ms. Pauline. "I do hope he didn't make this remark in Halt's hearing?"

"Unfortunately, yes," said Rodney. "He's not a bad lad. All muscle and bone, mind you, and a good deal of that between his ears. But he was feeling his oats a little and told Halt to mind his own business." He paused, then added, by way of explanation, "Everyone is a little jumpy, with all that's going on."

"So how is the lad?" Arald asked. Rodney shrugged.

"The hospital says there's no lasting damage. He'll be back on duty in a few days' time. But the point is, I can't have Halt going around damaging my officers. I can be needing them any minute."

Arald toyed with one of the pens on his desk. "He's definitely been difficult these past few days," he said. "It's like having a Cassowary with a sore head around the place. In fact, I think I might prefer a Cassowary with a sore head. It would be less disruptive."

"We were about to discuss Halt's behaviour as you arrived," Lady Pauline said, taking the opportunity to return the conversation to the case in hand. "There has been a complaint about him from Sir Digby of Norfolk Island."

"Digby?" Rodney said, a frown touching his face. "Didn't he try to short change us on his settlement of refugees?"

"Exactly," said the Baron. "We're having a lot of that going on at the moment. So I sent Halt to straighten matters out. Thought it might be a good idea to give him something to keep him busy."

"So what's Digby got to complain about?" Rodney asked. It was obvious from his tone that he felt no sympathy for the recalcitrant leader of Norfolk Island.

The prime minister gestured for Pauline to explain.

"Apparently," she said, "Halt threw him into the swimming pool."

"Into his own swimming pool, you say?" said Sir Rodney.

He paused to think about the fact. Pauline noticed that he didn't seem overly shocked by Halt's action. If anything, there was a look of grim satisfaction on his face. Australia's prime minister frowned at Rodney's tacit approval.

"I know the man deserved it," he said, "But we can't have people going around throwing leaders into the swimming pools. It's not... diplomatic."

Governor-General Pauline raised one elegant eyebrow. "Indeed not, sir," she said.

"And Halt has been altogether too high-handed about it all," he continued. "I'm going to have to speak to him about it. Most severely."

"Someone certainly should," Pauline agreed, and Rodney grunted a reluctant assent.

"He definitely needs taking in hand."

"You wanted to see me, my lord?" said a familiar voice, and they all turned guiltily towards the door, which Rodney had left open when he barged in.

Halt stood there, clad in his black-and-white uniform, his face half hidden by his black-and-grey beard. It was uncanny, the prime minister thought, how the man could appear almost without a sound. Now Arald, like his two advisors, was conscious that he had been caught talking about Halt behind his back.

He flushed in embarrassment, while Sir Rodney cleared his throat noisily. Only Pauline appeared unconcerned – she had a lifetime of practicing at appearing unconcerned.

"Aaahhhh...yes...Halt. Of course. Come in, won't you? Shut the door behind you, there's a good fellow." As he said these last words, Arald shot a baleful glance at Sir Rodney, who shrugged guiltily.

Halt nodded greetings to Pauline and Rodney, and then moved to stand before the prime minister's massive desk.

There was a long and increasingly awkward silence as the Special Agent stood waiting. Arald cleared his throat several times, not sure where to begin. Inevitably, it was the Governor-General who broke the impasse.

"I imagine you're wondering why the prime minister asked to see you, Halt," she said, relieving the tension in the room and forcing Halt to say something – anything – at the same time.

The Special Agent, taciturn as ever, glanced at Pauline, then the prime minister, and replied in as few words as possible. "Yes, sir."

But it was a start and now Arald had been given a chance to gather his thoughts and overcome his embarrassment. He brandished the letter in Halt's general direction.

"This..." He managed in time not to say 'brouhaha' again. The word was being grossly overused, he thought. "This... business with Sir Digby, Halt. It's just no good. No good at all!"

"I agree, my lord," Halt said, and the Baron sat back in his chair, a little surprised and quite a bit relieved.

"You do?" he said.

"Yes, my lord. The man is a nincompoop and a fool. Even worse, he took me for a fool as well. I suppose I can understand that he might want to take on less refugees, less mouths to feed. But to try and fool a SA from the prime minister? Why, that was a downright insult. The man needed to be taught a lesson."

"But was it your place to teach him, Halt?" the prime minister asked. Now Halt raised one eyebrow in reply.

"I don't recall seeing anyone else prepared to do so, sir."

"Perhaps Halt acted in haste – in the heat of the moment?" Pauline interjected, trying to give Halt a graceful way out of the situation.

But the Special Agent simply looked at her, then back to the prime minister, and said: "No. It was pretty well thought through. And I didn't rush at all. I took my time."

The Governor-General shrugged. Arald's expression showed in exasperation. He would be willing to give Halt some leeway in this matter if the Special Agent should only allow it. But Halt was obviously determined to be pigheaded.

"Then there are no mitigating circumstances, Halt," he said firmly. "You have acted excessively. I have no choice but to reprimand you."

Halt considered the matter before replying. "An awkward situation, my lord, since I am not technically answerable to you. I answer to the Special Agent Command and, ultimately, to the Queen."

The prime minister opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. Halt was right. As the one of Australia's Special Agents he was required to cooperate with the prime minister, but he was independent of his authority. That fact and Halt's intentionally unhelpful manner were beginning to get under the prime minister's skin. Once again, it was Pauline who suggested a compromise.

"Perhaps you could inform Halt, in an official manner, that you are displeased with his actions," she said. The prime minister considered the suggestion. It had merit, he thought. But the wording could be a little stronger.

"'Displeased' is too mild a word, Pauline. I would rather use the word 'vexed'".

"I would be most discomforted to know you were vexed, sir," Halt said, with just the slightest trace of mockery in his tone. Arald turned a piercing glare on him. Don't take this too far, it warned him.

"Then we shall make it 'extremely vexed', Lady Pauline," he said meaningfully. "I leave it to you and Nigel to put it in the right form." He looked from her to Halt. "You will receive the official notification of my displeasure tomorrow, Halt."

"I tremble in anticipation, my lord," said Halt, and the prime minister's eyebrows drew together angrily.

"I think that will be all, Halt," he said, very obviously restraining his temper. Pauline shook her head slightly at Halt's sardonic tone. He was walking a very fine line, she thought. The Special Agent now bowed slightly to Arald, turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

The prime minister let his breath out in an angry sigh.

"The man is impossible!" he said. "In all the time I've known him, I have never seen him like this. He's touchy, bad-tempered, and sarcastic! What on earth is the matter with him?"

Rodney shook his head. Like the Arald, he had known Halt for many years, and counted him as a friend.

"Something's obviously bothering him," he said. "But what?"

"Perhaps he's lonely," Pauline said thoughtfully, and both men look at her in amazement.

"Lonely? Halt?" said Rodney incredulously. "Halt's never been lonely in his life! He lives alone. He likes it that way!"

"He did," said Pauline, "But things have been different for the past year or so, haven't they?"

"You mean... Will?" the prime minister asked, and she nodded.

"Think about it. Halt has only ever had two apprentices. There was Gilan, five or six years ago. And now Will. And he's a rather special young man."

The prime minister nodded, not sure she was right but willing to listen. "He's that, all right."

Pauline was warming to her theme now. "He's amusing and interesting and talkative and cheerful. I should imagine he's brightened Halt's life quite considerably."

"Not only that," Rodney put in, "But he saved Halt's life as well."

"Exactly," said Lady Pauline. "There's a very special bond that's developed between those two. Halt has become as much a surrogate father as a mentor to Will. And now he's sent him away. I think he's missing him. He'd never admit it, but I think he's been enjoying having a young person around."

She paused to see what the prime minister thought. He was nodding agreement.

"You could be right, Pauline," he said. "You could be right." He considered the matter for some seconds, then said thoughtfully: "You know, it might be a good idea if you were to have a talk with him."

"I, my lord?" said Lady Pauline. "Why would I have more influence over him than anyone else?"


	2. Part 2

The girl was smiling at him again. Halt sensed it. It was as if he could actually _feel_ the smile radiating at him. He knew if he were to glance sideways at her, where she sat next to him, he would see it once more.

But he couldn't help himself. He looked and there it was. Wide, friendly and infectious. In spite of himself, it made him want to smile back in return and that would never do. Halt hadn't spent years cultivating a grim, unapproachable manner just to have it dispelled by this girl and her smile.

He glared at her instead. Alyss's smile widened.

"Why, Halt," she said cheerfully, "what a grim face that is to sit alongside."

They had left the Parliament House the previous day for the long flight to Washington DC. He had agreed readily when Pauline had asked him to escort Alyss on her first assignment – in point of fact, he would have agreed to most things suggested by the Governor-General. Of course, as a NATO diplomatic, Alyss rated an official guard of two police officers, and they sat at the chairs in the row behind them. But Pauline had suggested that Alyss might need advice or counsel in dealing with Mr. Trump. Halt had agreed to provide it if necessary.

What Pauline hadn't mentioned was Alyss's innate friendliness and the fact that she was so eminently likable. And cheerful, he thought, and that reminded him of someone else. He had been missing Will's lively presence over the past week or so, he admitted. After years of living by himself, attending to the secret and sometimes frightening business of the country, he had enjoyed the light and laughter that Will brought to his life. Now Will was far away, on his way to the New Zealand court, and Halt himself had sent him there. He realized that he boy's absence left a void in his life. Reluctantly, he told himself that he must be growing old – and sentimental.

Now there was this girl, barely 20 but already poised and aware of herself, chiding him gently for his black mood and grim countenance and fixing him with that damned smile.

"And such a silent face as well," she mused to herself. He realized that he had been ill-mannered and she didn't deserve that.

"My apologies, Ms. Alyss," he said curtly. Traveling on official business, Alyss was entitled to be addressed as "Ms. Alyss". She frowned at his formality.

"Oh, come now, Halt. Is that any way for friends to speak to each other?"

He glanced at her now. The smile was still lurking there at the corners of her mouth. The frown was an artifice. She was gently teasing him, he realized, and he determined that he would not give her the satisfaction of rising to her bait.

"Are we friends, Ms. Alyss?" he said, and she inclined her head thoughtfully. The action reminded him of Pauline and he realized how much this girl was like her mentor. He remembered Pauline when she was much younger. It could have been her sitting beside him, he thought.

"I would hope so, Halt. After all, I am a friend of Will's and I'm assisted to one of your oldest friends, I believe. Doesn't this give us some kind of... special relationship?"

"I am your… counselor, Ms.," he replied and his tone left no doubt that the conversation should end there.

With most people, that would have been the result. Halt could be quite a forbidding figure when he chose. And many people knew that Special Agents were people who should not be annoyed. Obviously, however, this girl wasn't one of those people.

"As you say, you're my counselor. And I'm very grateful that you are. But that's not to say that we can't be friends as well. After all, it's quite daunting to be on my first assignment." She paused, and then said quietly, "I'm not altogether sure that I'm up to it, as a matter of fact."

"Of course you are!" Halt said immediately. "Pauline knows her business. If you weren't 'up to it', as you put it, she would never have entrusted the mission to you. She thinks very highly of you, you know," he added.

"She's an amazing woman," Alyss said, and the admiration in her voice was obvious. "I've looked up to her for years, you know. She's succeeded so well in what is still generally regarded as a man's world."

Halt nodded agreement. "Amazing is a good word for her. She's open, honest and enormously intelligent. Smarter than most men too. Prime Minister Arald saw those qualities in her years ago. She was the one who convinced him that women are more suited to the diplomatic role than men."

"I've heard people say that. Why does he think that way?"

Halt shrugged. "He feels women are more inclined to talk and think things through, whereas men tend to be rather impulsive."

"So, for example, Ms. Pauline would never resort to throwing someone into a swimming pool if they were being objectionable?" she said, and Halt glanced up at her sharply. Her face was totally deadpan. Pauline had trained her well, he thought.

"No," he agreed. "But I didn't say that she's always right. Some people deserve to be thrown into swimming pools."

He realized now that he had been chattering on with her for some minutes, in spite of his determination to maintain his usual grim, tight-lipped manner. She had drawn him out like an angler luring a fish to the hook, he realized, and he wasn't sure how she had done it. And now she was smiling at him again. He harrumphed noisily and turned away to examine the flight's progress on the display.

Sitting in an airplane of the Australian government, there was little danger to be expected. And the pilots would alert them if there were any problems. But scanning the display gave him an opportunity to break off the conversation.

Alyss watched him curiously. She had seen him around the House of Parliament for years, of course. But when Ms. Pauline had introduced them the day before, she had been surprised to realize that he was at least a head shorter than she was. But Halt had an amazing reputation – a seven-foot-tall reputation, she mused. He was famous throughout the country and one tended to think of him as a larger-than-life character. Seen close-up, he was surprisingly small in stature. Like Will, she thought, and that set her to wondering.

"What qualities does a Special Agent need, Halt?" she asked.

He glanced back at her. Once bitten, twice shy, he thought. She wasn't going to draw him out into an extended conversation again.

"A propensity for silence is a good one," he said, and she smiled, genuinely amused at something.

"Somehow I can't see Will managing that," she said. She and Will had grown up together as wards in the orphanage of Canberra. He was probably her oldest friend. In spite of himself, Halt's lips twitched in what was almost a smile.

"No. He does tend to chatter, doesn't he?" he agreed. Then, realizing that she might think he was criticizing the boy, he continued quickly: "But that's part of being a Special Agent as well. He's always asking questions. He's always curious, always ready to learn more. A good Special Agent needs that. Eventually, he'll learn to curb his tongue a little."

"Not entirely, I hope," said Alyss. "I can't imagine Will becoming grim and forbidding and taciturn, like" – she hesitated and amended what she was about to say – "some people."

Halt raised one eyebrow at her. "Some people?" he repeated, and she shrugged.

"Nobody particular in mind," she said. Then, changing tack, she said, "He's very brave, isn't he? I mean, you must be proud of what he's done."

Halt nodded. "He has true courage," he said. "He can feel fear, he can be afraid. But it doesn't stop him from doing what he has to do. Mindless courage isn't any sort of real courage at all."

"You've trained him well," Alyss said, but Halt shook his head.

"The training is important. But the qualities have to be there from the beginning. You can't teach courage and honesty. There's a basic openness and lack of malice in Will."

"You know," she said confidentially, "when I was a child, I always said I was going to marry him."

Inwardly, he smiled at her words. _When I was a child_. She was barely more than a child now, he though. Then he changed his mind. She was a NATO diplomat. An apprentice of Pauline. She wore the white uniform and that meant she was much more than a child.

"You could do a lot worse," he said finally, and she glanced across at him.

"Really?" she said. "Do you think diplomats and SA's make a good match, Halt?" Her tone was just too innocent, too casual. He knew exactly what she was getting at and this time he wasn't going to be drawn. He was not going to be drawn. He was not going to discuss any relationship that might or might not have existed between himself and the beautiful Ms. Pauline.

He met her gaze very evenly for some moments, then said, "I think we might need to try and sleep for a bit. We don't want to experience too much of a jetlag."

Alyss' mouth twitched with a smile again. But this times it was a slightly rueful one.

"You can't blame a girl for trying," she said.


	3. Part 3

Donald Trump kept Alyss waiting for over an hour before deigning to receive her.

Halt and Alyss waited in the anteroom to Trump's office. Halt stood to one side, leaning impassively on the wall. Trump was an oaf, he thought. As a NATO diplomat on official business Alyss should have been greeted without delay. Obviously aware of her youth, the President of the US was attempting to assert his own importance by treating her as an everyday messenger.

He watched the girl approvingly as she sat, straight-backed and erect, in one of the hard chairs in the anteroom. She appeared calm and unflustered in spite of the insult she was being offered.

For his part, Halt had his distinctive Special Agent's badge pinned on his blouse, under his jacket. His gun, however, he retained in full sight. He never went anywhere without it, as he was expected to.

Alyss glanced up at him and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, to her. _Don't let him make you angry_. She returned the nod, acknowledging the message. Her hands, which were clenched into fists on her knees, slowly relaxed as she took several deep breaths.

This girl is very good, Halt thought.

Trump's secretary had obviously been well briefed by his master. After peremptorily waving Alyss to a chair and leaving Halt to stand, he had busied himself with paperwork and resolutely ignored them – rising several times to take items into the inner office. Finally, at the sound of a small bell tinkling from beyond the door, he looked up and gestured toward the office.

"You can go in now," he said disinterestedly. Alyss frowned slightly. Protocol dictated that a NATO diplomat should be properly announced, but the man obviously had no intention of doing so. She rose gracefully and moved toward to door, Halt following. That got the secretary's attention.

"You can wait here, guard," he said rudely. Without the jacket with the flags and stickers, there was little to distinguish Halt from a normal guard. He was dressed in simple black jeans, leather boots and a white blouse. In all honesty, he looked like even less than a normal guard.

"He's with me," Alyss said. The unmistakable tone of authority in her voice stopped the man cold. He hesitated, then rose from behind the desk and moved toward Halt.

"Very well. But you'd better leave that gun with me," he said, without quite the certainty that he had displayed earlier. He held on his hand for the gun, then met Halt's eyes. He saw something very dangerous there and he actually flinched.

"He is my guard, and if you would have read the credentials I gave you when we met you would have known that he is ordered by the government of Australia to carry that gun at all time, lest something happen," Alyss said, in the glory of her authority.

"All right, all right. Keep it if you must," the secretary muttered. He backed away, more than a little flustered, retreating behind the secure buck of his desk. Halt opened the door for Alyss, then followed her as she entered the Oval Office.

Donald Trump was seated at a large oaken table that served as a desk. He was studying a letter and didn't look up from it as Alyss approached. Halt was willing to bet that the letter was about something totally unimportant. The man was playing silly mind games, he thought.

But Alyss was up to the challenge. She stepped forward and produced a plastic map from her bag, slapping it briskly down on the table before Trump. He startled in surprise, looking up. Halt hid a smile.

"Alyss Mainwaring, Mr. President, NATO diplomat from Australia. My credentials."

Trump wasn't just an oaf, Halt thought. He was a fop as well. His jacket wasn't closed, making him look as though he did not care. His orangish blond hair lay on his head, framing an orange face with white circles around his eyes. He was of average height, but with a somewhat less average size of hands. Those were the most scary. His hands were smooth, pink, and looked like big baby hands. They marked a man who had never done a single physical thing in his life. The man obviously liked to indulge himself. He recovered now from his momentary surprise and leaned back in his chair, adopting a languid, slightly disapproving tone.

"Good heavens, girl, you can't come in here throwing your credentials on the desk like that! Don't they teach good manners in Australia these days?"

He looked distastefully at the plastic papers and shoved it to one side.

"They teach protocol, Mr. President," Alyss replied, very evenly. "And it requires that you examine and acknowledge my credentials before we proceed."

"Yes, yes, yes," Trump said, waving a dismissive small hand at the papers. "Take it as read. Take it as read. Now, girl, what brings you here?"

Halt interjected quietly, "The correct form of address, Mr. President, is 'Ms. Alyss'."

Trump looked at Halt in genuine surprise, as if he considered him some lower form of life who lacked the ability of speech.

"Is that so, guard?" he said. "And what might your name be?"

Alyss went to speak, but a warning glance from Halt stopped her. He replied, still in the same quiet tone: "Some people call me Arratay, Mr. President. It's French," he added mildly.

Trump raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "French, you say? How exotic! Well, Mr. _Arratay_ , perhaps you could leave the talking to me and young Alyss here, would that suit you?"

Halt shrugged and Trump took the movement for assent.

"Wonderful." Then, dismissing Halt, he turned his attention back to Alyss. "So, sweetheart, what do you have for me? A letter perhaps? Some stupid self-important note from Dumb Prime Minister Arald, I'll be bound?"

There were two small spots of colour in Alyss's cheeks, the only outward sign of the anger that was building up inside her at the man's offhanded manner. She produced Nigel's heavy paper envelope from the bag she wore over her shoulder and offered it across the desk.

"I have an official legal position, prepared under prime minister Arald's signature. He requests that you study it."

Trump made no move to take the letter.

"Set it down. I'll look at it when I have time."

"The prime minister requests that you look at it now, sir. And give me your answer. As a sign of respect for the close bonds America and Australia have, and as a sign of respect towards our leaders."

Trump rolled his eyes to heaven and took the envelope. "Oh, very well, if it will make you happy." He sliced the envelope and took out the sheet of paper inside it, skimming through it, muttering to himself, "Yes... yes... seen it... heard it before... false… fake… not true… alternative facts, that's what this is"

He set the page down and pushed it away from him, shaking his head wearily.

"When will you people learn? You can send me all the letters you like. But it fails. It doesn't work. It's ridiculous. The fact remains, the United States of America will not take any of the refugees Australia has. As long as they're not American, and definitely not if they're from IS territory, they won't enter America. It's America first. The executive order makes that very clear. It's great, the order. It's the best. It will make America great again."

"I'm instructed to draw your attention to Items Three and Five in the letter, sir. And paragraph nine as well. They make it quite clear that the signing of this executive order is faulty and your saying not to take on refugees is totally spurious," Alyss replied. And now, for the first time, Trump shed the air of world-weariness that he'd assumed. He stood angrily.

"Spurious!" he shouted. "'Spurious'? Who the devil are you, a little girl in a grown-up's dress, to come in here insulting me and saying my claim is spurious? How dare you? The order is the best in the world! It's gonna be great, it's gonna be absolutely fantastic. How dare you come in here saying I can't? It's a disaster! Your claim, it's fake!"

Alyss stood her ground, unmoved by his sudden anger.

"I repeat, sir, you are requested to read those items," she said quietly. Instead, Trump threw the letter down on the desk between them.

"And I refuse!" he shouted. Then his eyes narrowed. "I know who's behind this. I see the hand of that sour-faced shrew Governor-General Pauline!"

Then, in an undertone, he added: "One of the key problems today is that politics is such a disgrace, good people don't go into government."

Now Alyss's own anger flared. "You will speak respectfully of Ms. Pauline, sir!" she warned him. But Trump was too angry to stop.

"I'll speak of her, all right! I'll tell you this. She's a woman meddling in a men's world, where she has no place. She should have found a husband years ago and raised a brood of squalling babies. Surely there's a deaf and half-blind man somewhere who would have taken her."

"Sir!" said Alyss, her own voice rising. "You are going to far!"

"Is that right, sweetheart?" Trump replied sarcastically. "Well, let me give you some advice. Get away from that shrill, pinch-faced witch while you still have time. Find a husband and learn to cook. That's all women are good for, girl. Cooking and raising the babies."

Halt stepped forward before Alyss could reply. "The correct form of address," he repeated quietly, "is not 'girl' or 'sweetheart'. It is 'Ms. Alyss'. You will show respect for the uniform that this Diplomat wears. And you will show respect for Ms. Pauline as well."

For a moment, Trump was too startled to reply. First a girl, now a common guard had told him how to behave!

"Oh, is that so?" he raged. "I'll show you respect!" He picked up the letter and tore it in half. Then he did the same to the papers bearing Alyss's credentials, and to the copy of the agreement signed by prime minister Arald as well as Obama himself. "There's my reaction to this stupid dumb deal! There's my respect! Now get out!"

Very carefully, Halt set a step forward. Alyss raised a warning hand.

"Halt, don't get into trouble on my behalf." She said. But Halt looked at her and shook his head.

"Ms. Alyss, this... fop... has insulted you, your prime minister, your mentor and the Australian government as a whole. He has shown absolute disregard for the white uniform you wear. And by destroying your credentials, he has destroyed a piece of the respect Australia has for the US."

Alyss considered his words for a second or two. Then she nodded. Trump had been more than rude to her. His behaviour was totally beyond acceptance, even though he was the President of the United States.

"You're right," she said. "Carry on."

But President Trump had heard nothing after the word "Halt". The entire world knew the legendary Australian Special Agent's reputation and the American president frowned now and stepped back as the grim-faced figure came toward him.

"But... you said... you said your name was..." He struggled to remember it. Halt smiled at him. It was the smile of a wolf.

"Arratay? Yes, well, more correctly, _Arretez_. It's French for 'Halt'. My pronunciation has never been good."

His hand shot forward and locked in the red tie of the man's doublet. Halt then gained a firmer grip and dragged the struggling man across the table toward him.

"If you do anything to me, I swear I'll have you locked up, it's true," Trump threatened. His face was turning red, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"This is scandalous. It's a disaster. You think you can come in here and tell me what to do? It's horrible. Terrible. Your claim, it's fake. Alternative facts, all of them!"

But to say Halt was impressed would be an overstatement. The grey-bearded Special Agent simply smiled without humour.

Trump was taller and heavier than Halt. But Halt's hands, arms, shoulders and back were conditioned by years of climbing walls and trees and who knows what else. The thousands of weights he had lifted, over and over again, had turned his muscles into steel cord. Trump was dragged off his feet, hoisted across his own desk.

"The question is," said Halt, glancing at Alyss, "what should we do with him?" She hesitated, then that wonderful smile spread over her face.

"I wonder," she said. "Did he already have people create a swimming pool?"

A group of servants were busy emptying the privy buckets into the moat when they were startled by a sudden drawn-out cry. They looked up in time to see an orange-and-black figure sail out of a ground floor window, turn over once and then land with an enormous splash in the colourless waters. They shrugged and went back to work.

"I suppose I'll be in trouble again now," Halt said as they sat in the airplane. Alyss glanced at him. He didn't look very repentant.

"I can't say I doubt it," she said apologetically. "Mr. Trump will most certainly spread word and I think we can be sure you'll be expelled for some time. And if that wall of his is ever going to be build, you'll never get into America ever again.

"However, once other people hear my report, even though it will be "fake news", I should think they'll say Trump got off lightly. After all, phrases like 'Dumb Prime Minister Arald' and 'sour-faced shrew' won't exactly endear him to Mr. Arald or Ms. Pauline. And he did sign an acceptance of the letter in the end. As the official NATO diplomat on this mission, I thank you for your service."

He bowed slightly, as much as it was possible sitting in an airplane chair. "It's been a pleasure working with you," he said, and they sat in companionable silence for a while.

"I suppose you'll be leaving towards the training camp in the Capital Territory?" she said after a few minutes, and when Halt nodded, she continued: "I'll miss you. How will I ever carry out diplomatic missions without someone to throw unpleasant leaders out the into the swimming pool?"

"I'll miss you too." Halt smiled. And he realized that he meant it. He enjoyed being around young people – enjoyed their energy, their freshness, their idealism. "You're a good influence on a jaded, old, bad-tempered Special Agent."

"You'll soon have Will back to keep you busy," she said. "You _really_ miss him, don't you?"

The Special Agent nodded. "More than I realized," he said. Alyss leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

"That's for Will when you see him." A ghost of a smile touched Halt's face.

"You'll understand if I don't pass it on in person?" he said. Alyss smiled and leaned over to kiss him again.

"And that's for you, you jaded, bad-tempered old SA."

A little surprised by her own impulsiveness, she looked away, carefully picking up the book that had been laying on her lap. Halt touched one hand to his cheek and looked at the slim blond figure from the corner of his eyes.

 _If I were twenty years younger_... he began.

Then he sighed and had to be honest with himself. _Make that thirty years_ , he thought.


	4. FANBOOKLET JOHN FLANAGAN

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Dear Ranger's Apprentice fans! /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"With John Flanagan joining us Dutchies at the Ranger's Apprentice Day in the Netherlands on June 8th, I have decided to put together a new fanbooklet (just like I did two years ago)! /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"emWhat is the fanbooklet/em? The fanbooklet is a booklet, put together by me, that includes anything and everything that Ranger's Apprentice fans from all over the world would like to tell, ask or show John Flanagan. This can be cosplay, edit, fanart, headcanon, question, a personal story, or simply telling him why you like the books, which one's your favourite, who's your favourite character, what do they mean to you - anything and everything at all! /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"emHow can you contribute/em? Send an email to strongfanbooklet2019 /strong with whatever you want to be included. Don't forget to include your strongname/strong, strongage/strong and strongcountry/strong (although these are optional, I would like to show John how many fans from many ages and many different countries like his books). That's it! The deadline is strongJune 1st/strong - after that, I have to start putting it together and at that point I can't guarantee that there will still be space. I/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"f you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me! I look forward to seeing your contributions! Can we surpass 2017's record of 116 contributions?! /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Love, Rose/p 


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